Capital Flight

I haven’t spoken at all about the situation in Hong Kong before, mostly because there wasn’t much to be said:  (somewhat) free colony opposes colonial power’s aggression, mayhem ensues.

Several people have wondered why the ChiComs haven’t sent in the tanks, à la Tienanmen Square, to crush the waves of protests, but the answer is simple:  Hong Kong provides a means whereby the ChiCom government can move money around the world without provoking too much notice because currency movement in Hong Kong is completely unregulated.  Crush the protests, make Hong Kong just another province (like, say, Jiangxi or Shandong) and that flexibility disappears.

It is, however, a two-edged sword.  What has transpired since the protests began is that capital (money owned by individuals, that is) has been pouring out of Hong Kong and flooding into Singapore — to name just one such destination — thence on to parts unknown.  Which means that if Beijing does finally send the tanks into Hong Kong, they’re likely to find, like Old Mother Hubbard, that the cupboard is bare.  And the flow of  money is truly a deluge:  if you study how many major corporations have been purchased by Chinese-sourced money over the past few months, you’d be amazed.  Even better is that by and large, the corporations being thus purchased are characterized by their cash flow operations — in other words, the Chinese billionaires, canny businessmen that they are, are not just parking their money under an offshore mattress, they’re putting that cash to work and generating a revenue stream.

The ChiComs may not only be running out of other people’s money — they may soon be running out of their own.

Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of totalitarians.


By the way, you may have noticed that the above is somewhat short of details;  that’s because if I say more, I could jeopardize my several sources who are not only well placed in the area, but who do a ton of business there too and are close to said wealthy people.  One can never be too careful when dealing with Commie bastards.

And Back We Go Again

It’s not often that I agree with the doings of the foul European Union bureaucrats, but I see that they’ve just voted to do away with daylight savings time.  And as we’re coming up to the day (next Sunday morning) where we set the clocks back to Standard Time (where they bloody should be), I gaze across the Atlantic with something approaching envy — or rather, I will next year when DST becomes a thing here again.

Of course, this being Euroland, some people are going to be inconvenienced:

If member states give it the go ahead, EU countries will no longer put their clocks back in autumn and forward in spring.  But this would mean a time zone difference between the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, with the province still adhering to Greenwich Mean Time and British Summer Time.

As if the Irish need a way to cock their lives up any further… in discussing the matter with Mr. Free Market during our regular Sunday night drunken phone call, his suggestion is to let the Micks have one time zone (either one, no matter), after pouring a boatload of guns and munitions into the hands of the Northern Irish DUP, and let them all fight it out among themselves, while the rest of Britain sits aside in (to coin a phrase) splendid isolation.

If they’re going to fight about a version of Christianity, they may as well fight over an artificial timekeeping system, too.

My Style

As Longtime Readers are fully aware, I loathe Modernist architecture and interior design with something approaching destructive impulse (a polite way of saying that if I could get away with it, I’d pay Muslim assholes to fly empty airliners into all of them).  Lest we forget, here are a couple of examples of same:

So, you may ask, what do you propose in modernism’s stead?  Well, if we go according to the precept that “architecture doesn’t have to  suck”, we could do with more of these:

…and for the interior design, more of these:

The above two pictures, by the way, are of an AirBnB apartment in Edinburgh (one of my favorite cities in the whole world), where I will most certainly be staying the next time New Wife and I pop Over There.

Here’s another example of an interior taken not a million miles away from a certain country house in England’s South West, where I have stayed before:

…and where we will doubtless stay again when we venture into Hardy Country.

Yes, I’m hopelessly old-fashioned and so (to the surprise of precisely nobody) is New Wife.  Your opinion may vary from ours in that you prefer the top two pictures;  but if so, you suck and so does your ghastly Bauhaus  architecture.

Heroic Murderous Bastards

Many years back we took the kids to see the Smithsonian in D.C., only to be ambushed by the pathetic, self-flagellating exhibit of the 1941 Japanese-American internment.

Surprise, surprise, they’ve done it again.  Apparently, they also love that rat bastard Commie Che Guevara:

Che would write tender poetry for his wife, and when he departed for the Congo in 1965, left tape recordings of his favorite romantic verse, including Pablo Neruda’s “Goodbye: Twenty Love Poems”. He also left a letter for his four children to be opened and read only in the case of his death.

Oh, how nice.  Here’s how the Left prefers to remember the murderous asshole:

…while my favorite Che pic is this one:

And I find it satisfyingly ironic that when faced with his own death at the hands of his captors, the sadistic prick cried like a little girl and begged for his life.

Sic semper tyrannis.

Monday Funnies – Halloween Edition

Good grief, man, it’s only the Monday before Halloween — no need to get carried away like that!

But if yer gonna party, beware the next day:

Or you can get creative:

And if yer going to go to one of “those” Halloween parties:

…beware the possible consequences, such as July Pumpkin:

…or even Syphilis Pumpkin:

Whatever you do, just Pumpkin away:

And as always, here’s the Mistress Of The Dark:

Now get out there and scare someone.

Desert Island Dames

Some time back, I riffed on the “Desert Island Discs” theme to create a “Desert Island Guns” post, whereupon a couple of you bastards Curious Readers took it upon themselves to ponder about which five women I would like to be marooned on a desert island with (assuming, of course, I was not married and could have my pick of any women in the world).

Five?  Good grief, who do you think I am, Errol Flynn?  Some NBA basketball player?  A 20-year-old boy?

Okay, if the theme for the Guns post was “guns I love to shoot” then here’s my list of the five women I’d love to etc. etc.  In no specific order (because I will not  start a catfight before I even get there):

1)  Salma Hayek.  I love that accent, she seems like fun, and as for the rest, ’nuff said:Downside is that being Mexican, she’s probably jealous as hell, but there ya go.

 2 ) Carol Vorderman.  Apart from her obvious assets, she’s also an engineer and pilot, so during her down time (so to speak) she could fix stuff around the place and fly in supplies of booze and ammo (also Viagra) each week:

3)  Sarah Palin. Apart from her delectability, she cooks and shoots, and I’d love a shooting partner.I know she’s getting a little long in the tooth, but then so am I.

4) Nigella Lawson. Because Sarah’s gonna need time off from cooking for her other activities.  Only I want the earlier, sexier and more bountiful version of Nigella (see below), not the new slimmed-down shrunken model:

5)  Amy Adams.  No way am I going to be marooned without at least one genuine redhead, and Amy is the business:

Runners-up:

Helena Bonham Carter.  Because I like a little crazy.

Jennifer Tilly.  Also crazy, and I need someone to play cards with when I’m too tired to do anything else.

Katarina Witt.  No explanation needed.  Also, I need to practice my German.

Monica Bellucci.  Because mama mia.

Juliette Binoche.  French lessons.

And lastly, opera singer Lucy Kay (who can sing me to sleep at night).